Flow
by bunnytales
Summary: For anitrasdance, who kindly provided an idea. I hope I'm on track to do it justice!
1. Chapter 1

Flow (1)

...

 _Day 19:_

"What?"

"I said you haven't been to see Jon in three days now. You two didn't have a disagreement, did you?"

Cameron dumped the rest of his coffee in the sink and pitched the cup. "No, everything's fine. I just haven't made it back to see him."

Dina blinked. "Okay, because he phoned me a little while ago and asked if you'd said anything about coming out…it sounded like he hadn't spoken with you."

"Dina, will you leave it alone? Jesus." Cameron ran a hand through his hair. "I just need-"

"Hey, am I interrupting? Sorry – I let myself in."

Cameron and Dina turned at Kay's voice. "No," Cameron replied, snagging his jacket off the back of the chair. "Hi, I'm ready to go." He turned back to Dina, ducking his head. "I don't know why I snapped, Dina – I'm so sorry. Maybe I'm tired. Forgive me?"

"Of course, Sweetheart," Dina murmured, eyeing him. She smiled at Kay. "Did you want to come sit, have a coffee?"

Kay shook her head as she moved to join them. "Thanks, but no. We have a case. And I think this one will be interesting."

...

They entered the warehouse, fanned out and moved uniformly down aisles of metal racking piled high with crates. The towering shelves distorted acoustics; even their soft footsteps on the cement floor echoed.

"You know we're not going to find a ghost in here," Kay said quietly. "So don't be disappointed when it turns out to be garden-variety theft or fraud."

Cameron tossed a wry smile in her direction. "I wouldn't dream of it."

They'd moved three-quarters of the way down the aisle when Mike called: "Over here!" Agents converged on his position to find him standing watch by what seemed to be just one more shelf of boxes.

Kay blinked at him, then scanned the floor and saw it – from under the packed bottom shelf there was visible the edge of a dark stain. The air had a distinctive metallic odor, and she noticed Cameron grimace and move back several steps. She crouched to peer underneath the rack. "That's a lot of blood."

"What I was thinking," Mike agreed. "And check out the source." He pointed to the crate directly above, on the lowest shelf. Its base was dark; both the wood and the puddle underneath it looked to still be tacky.

"Get CSU down here," Kay said, rising. "I'd like to get a look inside that."

...

"So the Harbormaster, Harold Cantor, didn't move the stolen goods out of the warehouse," Mike noted. "He was already dead and stuffed into one of the empty crates."

Kay nodded. "Which they were careful to replace on the shelves so that the morning workers wouldn't notice anything out of place. But they left behind their…gadget."

"Which is actually kind of cheap and low-end."

Mike and Kay pivoted to level questioning looks at Cameron, who was studying the small homemade device. The forensics techs had found no prints or DNA on it, nothing to lead them to an individual, and it had been turned over to the magician for further analysis.

"You're not impressed with the trick, Cameron?" Kay leaned closer to examine the device. Cobbled together from found parts, it was like a little mechanical Frankenstein.

Cameron quirked an eyebrow. "It's effective enough," he admitted. "But it's pretty basic. A motion sensor, same as in any security light, picks up movement when someone enters the warehouse. It sends a wireless signal to the receiver." He tapped the second small device they'd retrieved. "The receiver triggers the sound effects, which are just played on a loop into the building's ventilation system. So the rattles and groans that made everyone think poltergeist seem to come from every direction, because they _do_ come from every direction. And the timer shuts it down every morning so the mystery noises are only heard after dark. Presto – you have a haunted warehouse."

"I get all that," Mike put in, "but what's the point? The place comes off as creepy. So what do they gain?"

"Maybe that's it," Kay suggested. "The place is creepy. Nothing too dramatic, nothing anyone is going to feel comfortable reporting to their supervisor, because it's just some unexplained noises. If Cantor hadn't started living so obviously beyond his means that it triggered an investigation, no one would have suspected anything was going on there at night. But security officers are human. They get creeped out or distracted, maybe they spend more time looking over their shoulder, hurrying to get out of the place, and they miss things they otherwise would have caught."

Cameron nodded. "Makes sense to me."

Mike grunted. "We initially thought this was a one-time score – designer labels or electronics that fell off the back of a truck. But this sounds like the set-up for a long-term operation. Maybe they're moving something on a regular schedule."

"Could be," Kay said. "The question is what."

...

 _Day 20:_

He leaned against the wall, back to the guard, listening to the rings and imagining his brother's cheerful ringtone. Something was up with Cam, typically effervescent but lately seeming a bit frayed. The last time they'd spoken, several days back, Cameron had paced restlessly around the little workroom, eyes landing randomly on notes, maps, clues to the Mystery Woman's identity and master plan. He'd been unfocused, unlike himself. But it was only three weeks since that horrifying fiasco in the auction house vault, and barely four weeks since Cam had finally given up hope of reconciling with Lexi. Maybe the bouncy, eternally happy soul had just taken one too many hits and needed time to regroup.

Jonathan sighed as the call went to voicemail. Cam's chirpy greeting and his own rationalizations couldn't quite kill the sense he had that something more was wrong.

...

"Damn."

Kay glanced up from the old police report to see Cameron scowling at his phone. "Something wrong?"

"I forgot to take this off silent today. Missed a call from Johnny." Sighing, he shoved the phone back in his pocket.

"Did you want to take the afternoon?" Kay asked. "Go see him?"

Cameron shook his head. "No, I'll go tomorrow." He leaned on an elbow and rubbed his temple with two fingers.

"Headache?"

Dropping his hand, Cameron rolled his shoulders a couple of times. "Yeah," he replied. "Tension, I guess."

Kay studied the magician for a moment, noticing dark circles under his eyes. He also looked a bit less…polished than usual. He'd returned his attention to the port map, highlighting probable routes of egress from the warehouse, and didn't seem to notice her scrutiny. "Okay," she said finally. "If it gets bad, go home."

A moment passed, stretching itself out, before Cameron pulled his focus from the paper to meet her eyes. "Uh, okay," he said, brow furrowing, and immediately returned to staring at the diagram.

...

"Got something," Mike announced, striding into the bullpen. "Actually, it was mostly Gunter who got it."

Kay raised her eyebrows. "What?"

"This guy." Slapping the open folder down on the desk, he stabbed a finger into the middle of the old photo. "His name's Jacobus Stein, an engineer."

Cameron joined them from the other desk. I've heard of him. He's worked with a lot of magicians, also did years on the carny circuit. Ran the haunted houses."

Mike nodded. "I showed Gunter our little ghost-simulator and he pegged it as Stein's work right off. He likes using recycled objects, probably a habit from his carnival days when he had to make do with whatever he could get his hands on to keep things running."

"So what's this guy doing haunting a warehouse on the docks?" Kay asked. "It seems a bit out of his area."

"Money is everyone's area," Cameron offered.

Kay blinked. "That's a bit cynical."

The magician shrugged wordlessly, eyes on Stein's photo.

...

To be continued

Note: Thanks for reading! More to come, although likely not as quickly as it often did with my last story. I'm still wrestling my way into this one…but I feel things heating up and that's good.

2nd Note: The Save Deception petition (at least the biggest one) has well over 18,000 signatures. People have been emailing not only ABC, but also Amazon (which actually sends personalized responses to feedback – I got one myself!). So that's a sign that someone at least hears the comments. Fingers still crossed!


	2. Chapter 2

Flow (2)

 _Day 21_

Warrant in hand, they raided the engineer's small apartment, found a uniform layer of dust and lumpy milk in the refrigerator. He was a craftsman and proud; his tools each had their place in the meticulously designed workshop that had once been a bedroom.

The unit's emptiness confirmed, they brought in their magician for a look around. He wandered while the agents searched.

"Take a look," Kay said, catching Mike's eye. On a side table stood a contraption. Two large glass jars fastened atop a wooden platform, with parts – a metal wheel with a hand crank, rubber tubes – between them. It looked old.

"What is it?" Mike asked, leaning over to examine it from every angle.

"I have no idea, but it's creepy. Cam?"

Cameron approached, scanning the machine. His eyes slipped over it and the corner of his mouth quirked.

"Do you know what this does?" Kay asked.

"Yeah. One tube goes into the carotid artery and the other into the jugular vein. Solution in, blood out."

Mike had reached out, fingers ready to touch the wheel. He yanked his hand back. "Seriously?"

"Yep," Cam said, turning away to look over the contents of a low shelving unit. "That's an antique embalming machine."

Kay grimaced and also stepped away.

"Do I want to know what these are?" Mike asked, moving to Cameron's side and eyeing tools in neat rows on a shelf.

Cameron glanced over them. "That's an old bone saw," he said, indicating the sturdy toothed blade. "Scalpels, I think…and a trephine."

Mike blinked at him. "A what?"

"Trephine." Cameron picked up the small tool, which looked like a gimlet with a circular blade on the end. He pointed to the serrated edge. "This cuts through the skull. The little spike in the middle holds it in place while it's working."

Paling a little and taking a few deep breaths, Mike turned to Kay. "Who the hell is this guy?"

….

He was bone-tired and, aside from clutter, Stein's apartment had yielded nothing. Nor had their afternoon at the office, then down at the modern port security station, then searching a second time through Cantor's spacious loft. The Harbor Master had apparently been tangled up in this scheme – whatever it was – for a while. His loft walls were studded with conspicuously pricey art, a jumble of genres and periods. An expensive albeit knock-off Ming vase stood on an ornate mahogany credenza, next to several small cherubs sculpted in the Rococo style. Kay had walked beside him, taking it all in again with what seemed a mix of amusement and horror. The place was hideous.

The headache was back and the grainy security footage in front of him wasn't helping. He'd gotten a copy emailed after seeing nothing in their original viewing. Now, alone in the dim quiet of the Archive, he played and replayed it, searching for the thing that didn't fit. Trucks had come and gone; personnel had come and gone; nothing suspicious had been caught on that camera. Cantor's last appearance at the warehouse had been a week past; Stein had never been visible there. Sighing, Cameron rubbed his eyes.

His cell buzzed – Johnny. "Hey," he said, "sorry I didn't get back to you yesterday."

 _How's it going, little brother? You gonna come see me tomorrow?_

Shifting the phone, Cameron reached out to pause the video. "Uh, yeah," he said. "We're interviewing a couple witnesses first thing, so I'll come out a bit later. Sound good?"

 _I'm starting to feel ignored, Cam._

That prickled at him and he opened his mouth to say…something. His head was throbbing and he was exhausted and he couldn't remember putting anything down but coffee all day and they were trying to solve a _murder_ — Hard words started to form and he took a deep breath, suddenly concerned. "I'm sorry, Johnny," he said. His brother wasn't in this; he wasn't part of it. Cameron tamped down his frustration. "I'm sorry. I've been a bit…distracted lately."

 _You know where to find me, then._

"Yeah, I—" A creak down the hallway stopped him and he waited, listening.

 _Cam? Cameron?_

Silence again. Suddenly exhausted, Cameron closed the laptop. "I'm here," he said. "Listen, Johnny, I'm really tired. Can we talk tomorrow?"

Jonathan's reply might have held disappointment or irritation but he couldn't tell. Tomorrow would be fine, though. Promising to get some rest, Cameron ended the call. He rose, swayed under a wave of dizziness, and braced both hands on the table for support. It had been a strange conversation, Jonathan's voice distant and flat. He felt disquieted, anxious. As the dizziness passed he heard another creak, louder, like someone moving in the other room. He listened again, breath in his throat, but there was nothing.

Gripping his phone, Cameron stepped into the hall. It was dark, empty. The spare rooms were flooded with moonlight, glowing silver; the air was cool and still. The kitchen was dark and vacant. He peered into shadows that could have hidden a multitude of dark things, checking each room in turn and ending back where he'd started. The laptop was still open on the table, video paused on the view of a panel van parked just down from the warehouse. Cameron blinked at the screen, confused. Gripped by a sudden urge to be in his own apartment, he shut it down and headed for the door.

….

To be continued

Note: Thanks to anyone reading and/or reviewing! Apologies for the longer delay in updating – this story has been crotchety and difficult, the characters obstinate and not doing what I want. Then, in a final setback, I was going to do my last edit on this and post it yesterday night, but my house was dark and I ended up creeping myself out so much that I had to stop reading _my own work_. (This probably deserves an eye-roll, or at least a sigh.) So here it is, edited and ready, and the next chapter will hopefully not take me a week to get up. Plus, I have reading to do as many of you are writing stories…yay!

One other note: I chatted with a lady on the Save Deception petition and she sent me an email she'd received from Amazon studios, which she emailed about picking up the show. It was a personalized response and the gal said she agreed that Deception is a great show worthy of more attention (that's close to her wording, I believe) and that while she can't make any promises, they are forwarding all these comments to the people in charge of development. So unless she's just blowing smoke, I think that's positive! Plus, I'm still emailing ABC and Ben Sherwood at Disney, reminding them that we're out there. Fingers crossed!


	3. Chapter 3

Flow (3)

….

 _Day 22:_

Cameron rushed into the office, nearly colliding with a junior agent as he exited the elevator. He spotted Kay and headed over.

"Whoa," Kay greeted him. "Where's the fire?"

"I'm not late?"

Kay shook her head. "No, they're just settling our witnesses in a couple of interview rooms." She looked Cameron up and down. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Well…." Cameron glanced around the bullpen, then edged closer to Kay and lowered his voice. "I had kind of a weird night."

"A weird night?" Kay repeated. The magician was dishevelled and seemed pale. "Cam," she urged. "What happened?"

Running a hand through his hair, Cameron sighed. "I don't know," he said finally. "Last night I was in the Archive checking out security footage from around the warehouse. I was alone but I could've sworn I heard someone moving around."

Kay ushered the magician to her desk and sat him down; she perched on the edge and hovered, intent. "Tell me what happened."

"It was nothing…I guess."

"You _guess_?"

"I checked it out and didn't find anything, but when I came back to the table where I'd been working, my laptop was open with the security video on it."

"So…."

Cameron looked a bit sheepish. "So I'm pretty sure I'd closed the laptop before getting up. I was on the phone with Johnny and I was ready to call it a night, and I'm sure I closed it."

Kay's nerves prickled and she felt the corners of her mouth tighten. "Do you believe someone was there?"

"I don't know. The Archive creaks – you know that. It's old; it can be creepy at times." Cameron stood and paced around the desk. "And I've been feeling a bit off, so maybe all this has gotten to me."

"Jacobus Stein."

"Yeah, him." Pausing at the corner of the desk, Cameron ran a finger down the edge. He shook his head faintly.

"What is it?" Kay said. She leaned forward, studying him. The stubble was more pronounced than usual; the shadows under his eyes seemed darker. She couldn't pinpoint what made her uneasy; she tried to get a grip on him. "Cameron," she pressed. "What's going on?"

He stared at the desk for a long moment before looking her in the eye. "When I drove in this morning, I think someone was following me."

….

"Hey," Kay said.

Mike glanced up sharply, dropping his keys in the top drawer and closing it. "Hey," he replied. "I didn't see you there."

With a quirk of one brow Kay perched herself on the edge of his desk. "Sorry for the ambush, but I need you to check into something. Quietly."

"Okay…." Shrugging off his jacket, he hung it over the back of his chair. "What's up?"

"Cameron thinks someone was in the Archive last night, while he was alone there. There was some noise he couldn't identify, and he thought someone had been at the table where he was working."

Mike blinked. "Did he call the police? He didn't call us."

Kay shook her head. "He said it was more a strange feeling than anything solid. But this morning he saw a car parked down the block, then he saw the same car driving past when he got here."

"There are a lot of cars in Manhattan," Mike countered. "Is he sure?"

"He said it was dark blue…and old."

"Dark blue and old."

"Yeah. Kind of distinctive, but he's not a car guy."

"I don't suppose he got a plate number."

"Kay smiled. "Not a car guy."

Grimacing, Mike considered options. "I could bring in a sketch artist. If Cameron is able to describe the car…."

"No," Kay said. She turned to look back at the conference room, where the long table was scattered with notes, cargo manifests, maps of the dock area, photos of the Harbor Master's loft. Cameron was poring over it, elbows on the glass and chin resting in one hand. They'd been at it since the witnesses had finished giving their statements. Nothing had jumped out to hit them with what illicit things were being moved through the port, and what secret had been worth killing to defend.

"Kay?" Mike prodded. "Are you listening to me? Why the secrecy?"

Kay frowned. "Sorry. I just think Cameron's a bit…bothered by this case. Jacobus Stein, the whole haunting thing, the fact that this is someone tangled up in magic and the carnival world and the occult. Maybe it hits a bit too close to home."

"Well, I guess that's fair."

"Yeah, but I don't think it's everything. Something's been up with him for days now. When I went to get him the morning we searched the warehouse, I think I walked in on him and Dina arguing. I didn't hear anything but their body language was definitely tense, and it looked like Cameron was apologizing to her. She looked surprised. Cameron's not the argumentative type."

"I don't think I've ever even seen him angry," Mike agreed. He shrugged. "Whatever it was, Dina didn't mention it to me. So maybe it wasn't that serious."

"Maybe," Kay admitted. "I don't know. But if Cameron's going through something already, I don't want to stress him out by obsessing over what he might have seen or heard. Not until we know something."

"Alright," Mike said. "Quietly it is."

….

He took off early to go see Jonathan. Kay practically kicked him out, since their morning had been so spectacularly unproductive. He sighed as he pulled out of the FBI visitor parking area. It wasn't his fault the leads had dried up. That port was a leaky sieve – they could've marched a herd of elephants through it without being noticed.

The drive to the prison was always long, a dull route on the brightest day. Now the low and heavy cloud and hint of rain seemed to augur something even darker. The road was slippery, dangerous.

His eyes moved to the rear view mirror, and there it was again. Or still. The dual headlights, the flash of silver bumper and grill, snaking over the road. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and leaned heavier on the gas. When he opened his eyes again, he was sure he'd left it behind.

….

To be continued

Note: Thank you to anyone who's still reading this. The slow pace of my updates is perturbing to me. But I tend to write in the evenings, and this story is creeping me out. So I turn on all the lights and then worry that I'm over-contributing to climate change. Sigh.

Another note: The petition to renew Deception is now at about 19,000 signatures! I've emailed ABC to alert them to this important fact. I've also emailed Amazon, which actually answers emails. So when weighing the relative merits of ABC vs Amazon in the customer service arena, Amazon is the clear winner. Hopefully it takes up our show. It's certainly hearing from enough people. I would suggest that anyone who is remotely interested in seeing Deception have another season should email Amazon about it, and then gloat to ABC on their programming feedback page. I do this often and find the process both enjoyable and vaguely therapeutic. Much cheaper than flying to Iceland and bathing in the Blue Lagoon, although that is on my bucket list.

More story to come, when there's more daylight.

Cheers,

Bunny


	4. Chapter 4

Flow (4)

 _Day 23:_

Mike was about to hit _send_ when the elevator opened and Kay was there, an expectant look on her face. "Thank God," he said. "I was about to ask when you were getting here. Have you seen Cameron?"

"Good morning," Kay said, checking her watch. "No I haven't...but it's pretty early. What's going on?"

"I'm not even sure," Mike replied. "But whatever it is, it's got me creeped out." The elevator doors opened again behind Kay, and personnel stepped around her. Mike jerked his head in the direction of their desks. "We need to talk."

….

He hadn't left it behind. Cameron glanced out the diner window again. It was sitting there just down the block, shaded by elms, a malevolent blue-and-silver presence. Chrome and metal and whatever sinister intentions the driver had.

"Reheat that for you?"

Forcing himself to return the waitress' smile, Cameron shook his head. "No, I'm good. Thanks."

Alone again, he took a deep breath. He felt nauseous, shaky after a night of no sleep and too much coffee, and he was no longer sure why he'd chosen this place to hole up in, why he hadn't just called Kay, called Mike.

Maybe because this was a threat. Stein was trying to lead them away from the truth, to lure them into some kind of trap just as he'd surely lured the hapless Harold Cantor. Kay and Mike were skilled investigators and could take care of themselves, but they didn't know Stein's shadowy world, which crept alongside and interwove with his world. They didn't know misdirection like the Master of Deception did; they didn't live with it in their bones. He wouldn't let that twisted man lead them off the trail and into danger. He sure as hell wouldn't let Stein hurt them.

Or Johnny. He felt himself scowling, remembering yesterday's drive. He'd spotted the blatant tail, leaned on the gas until the car had disappeared, and in relief had turned his thoughts toward seeing his brother. But of course Stein wasn't gone; he wasn't gone. Around a bend in the road and there the silent behemoth of a car had been again, stalking him. In desperation he'd driven past the turn-off for the prison, circled back around to the highway and returned to the city. No way was he taking Stein anywhere near Jonathan. No way.

His cell phone vibrated and he dug it out of his pocket. _Partner_. Probably time to at least check in and let them know what was up.

He picked up, attention back on the car. "Kay," he greeted. "You have perfect timing. Guess who's been following me again?"

She didn't answer.

"Kay?" he prodded. "You there?"

 _I'm here._

He took a moment. "You aren't Kay," he said.

 _Nothing escapes you, I see._

"What are you doing?" Cameron hissed. "What do you want?" He sensed eyes on him and glanced around the small eatery, registering alarmed looks from a few customers. Fumbling with his wallet, he dropped several bills on the table and walked out, gripping the phone so hard it hurt. By the time the metal door had rattled shut behind him he could hear that the line was dead. In the narrow parking lot he stopped, ended the call and peered down the road. The car was gone.

….

"We're sure about this."

"Whatever 'this' is, yes."

Kay brought up the image, a stock photo. "This is what Jacobus Stein drives."

"Yeah," Mike nodded. "A 1973 Oldsmobile Delta 88 Royale, midnight blue. We'd already run his vehicle registration after figuring out he made the 'haunting machine.' When Cameron told you he'd been followed here, I checked that first."

"Dark blue and old, just like Cameron said."

"Yeah."

"This makes no sense, Mike."

"I know."

"Nothing on the footage. Nothing at all?"

Mike sighed. "I went through it. Then I went through it again." He settled on the edge of his desk. "Then I ran Cameron's cell phone records, and after I got those back yesterday afternoon, I paid a visit to Jonathan."

….

The buzz of his cell was loud in the quiet apartment. _Partner_ again. He sent the call to voicemail, breathing hard. It buzzed again; he rejected the call again. Eighteen missed calls from her…no, from _him_. He rubbed his temples, trying to ease the headache. It was useless – Stein had done something to him and now he was caught in this…web of dark happenings. _Think, Cameron_ , he hissed to himself. He had to get in front of Stein, get a step ahead of him. Their investigation had been cold from the start, Kay and Mike's speculation the only thing connecting the dots between a smuggling ring and Cantor's murder. Johnny couldn't help – the danger was there too. The master haunter had thought of everything.

Grabbing his keys, he strode for the door. If this was going to be a showdown he would be there; he would be ready. The warehouse was where it had all started. He would end it there. Yanking the door open, he caught the movement too late and hands were on him, voices loud in his ears. He fought, and then there was nothing.

….

To be continued…very soon!

Note: I've actually written most of the next part of this story so I believe I'll be able to update in the next day or 2. Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy!

Second note: still fighting the good, save Deception fight! That petition is still attracting new signatures, and Amazon studios staff seem pretty responsive when emailed. I got a very nice reply, and a few, I've heard, have stated they've actually seen Deception as well. Interesting.


	5. Chapter 5

Flow (5)

They waited, pacing, sitting, flipping through worn magazines and seeing nothing but Cameron, unconscious in the corridor. The ambulance taking forever to arrive, the medics so practiced and calm as they took vitals, took information, took Cameron away.

 _Psych hold._ She'd heard it countless times before, but never had it been so jarring. Truthfully, the doctors were first seeking a physical cause for his collapse. But she and Mike had reported everything, listed off the behavioural aberrations one by one, and the ER attending had made copious notes and indicated a psych consult would be needed, and conscious or not Cameron wasn't going anywhere.

"I don't get it," Jordan said, tossing aside a dog-eared copy of Popular Mechanics. "I saw Cameron yesterday and he was _fine_."

"He wasn't fine," Gunter spat. "That monster Stein did something to him, that's for sure. He got in Cam's head."

Dina stood up and paced slowly around the waiting area. "I don't know about that," she murmured.

"Dina?" Kay prompted.

Shaking her head slightly, Dina picked up the magazine Jordan had discarded. She stared at the cover for a moment and then dropped it back on the table. "I don't know," she said, turning back to Kay. "But something's been off about Cameron for a little while now."

"Are you talking about a few days ago, when I came to pick him up for the case?"

"Yes," Dina nodded, settling back down next to Gunter. "We were talking and Cameron…snapped at me. It was over nothing. I asked if he was going to see Jonathan and he just went off." She shrugged helplessly. "I've never seen him act that way, even under stress. Even during Jon's trial, after the conviction, he's always been…gentle. It's who he is."

"Family of Cameron Black?"

They turned as one to see a tiny, genial looking physician with greying hair tied in a neat bun. She smiled at the group. "So you're all 'family'?"

"Yes," Kay replied. "We're all family."

The doctor nodded. "Alright then. I'm Dr. Gina Singh. I've been examining Mr. Black." She motioned down the corridor. "Can we speak?"

Leading the way into a small consult area, Dr. Singh placed a file on the table and turned to the group. "Mr. Black came to us after collapsing and losing consciousness."

"Yes," Kay nodded. "We were there when it happened." She shot a reassuring look at Mike.

"And you described physical and behavioural symptoms over the past several days."

"He's had a headache," Jordan offered.

"He's been tired as well," Dina said, garnering nods from the team.

Kay hesitated. "He's also been…different."

"Restless, irritable, erratic?"

"Yes. All of those things." Kay grimaced. "He reported being followed, hearing strange noises in his home…like someone was after him."

Dr. Singh nodded. "But no one actually was."

"No. We checked into it and…no. And when we went to his place this morning…."

Mike cleared his throat. "He fought us," he said softly. "It was like he didn't realize who we were. We had to restrain him." He looked anxiously at the doctor. "Did we hurt him?"

"No, I don't believe you did," Dr. Singh reassured. "Your intervention probably saved his life. Mr. Black has a traumatic brain injury, and he's had it for weeks."

"What?" Kay blinked and shook her head. "A brain injury. From what? How do you know?"

The doctor's smile was practiced, speaking to long experience in calming fearful people. "We diagnosed the injury quickly, due to Mr. Black's specific symptoms. The headaches and personality changes you mentioned, and of course the loss of consciousness. Our diagnosis was confirmed with a computed tomography scan – a CT scan – of his skull. It's like a fancy X-ray." Opening the file, she pulled out the scan and held it up for them, tracing one finger down a light grey mass inside the white line of cranial bone. "This," she explained, "is a subacute subdural hematoma. A head trauma can cause small bridging veins on the surface of the brain to rupture and slowly bleed. The blood collects between the surface of the brain and the skull, as you can see here."

Kay stared at the image. "That shape…that's all blood?"

"Yes."

"Jesus," Gunter murmured. "Stein didn't do that."

Dr. Singh frowned. "I'm sorry – who?"

"Our case," Kay said. The doctor had laid the scan down on top of Cameron's file, but she couldn't take her eyes off it. The smooth bulge of blood – it seemed impossibly large.

"Agent?" Dr. Singh prodded.

"Sorry." She sucked in a breath and focused. "We've been investigating criminal activity that included some gas-lighting, mostly manufactured noises. I think we assumed that what Cameron saw and heard was connected to that. But it wasn't, was it?"

"I can't determine what Mr. Black may or may not have perceived in connection to your investigation, but I can say that the symptoms you've described occur in a significant number of these injuries." The doctor referred again to her scan. She curled her hand into a fist that neatly covered the mass, and then flexed it to simulate distention toward the darker space of cerebral tissue. "There may be few or no signs of injury at first. As blood pools over days or weeks, it begins exerting increased pressure on the brain. Common symptoms include headache, dizziness, sleep disturbances and problems with movement. Patients may also experience depressive or psychotic symptoms, hostile behaviour, delusions, hallucinations and eventual loss of consciousness."

"A lot of that sounds right," Mike said. "But how did this happen? Cameron's been fine."

Dr. Singh referred to the file notes. "He was brought in about a month ago after having been locked in an airtight vault, correct?"

Kay nodded. "Uh, yes. He nearly died." She remembered their pervasive worry over Cameron, the auction house, the Mystery Woman's arrogance. _Of course_. "He'd been knocked out," she said.

"At the time," the doctor continued, scanning rows of transcribed notes, "it appears that the ED personnel focused on Mr. Black's breathing, as he had been deprived of oxygen. When brought in he was fully conscious and didn't report pain or show initial signs of head injury, so although it was noted that he had been struck, no follow-up was ordered."

"Was that a mistake?" Dina asked, her voice low and even.

"It was not an unreasonable course of treatment at the time."

"So what now?" Kay asked.

Dr. Singh smiled again. "Now we make him better."

….

To be continued

Note: Thanks for reading!

Second Note: I was over on the Save Deception petition the other day, and I heard there is actual SWAG being put out to convince ABC or some other entity like Amazon or HBO to pick it up. Mugs. T-shirts. Who knows what else. That gave me a chuckle. I went back to the ABC programming page and asked how they can possibly ignore swag. :)


	6. Chapter 6

Flow (6)

….

Hospital activity came in predictable – if frenzied – waves. Orderlies and nurses streamed past patients wheeling their IV poles doggedly up and down the corridors. Families and friends wandered in, wandered out. There was a sense of waiting – for recovery or for something else. Voices rose and fell; sometimes the afflicted called out or moaned in their beds. _Poor bastard_ , someone would say, not knowing what was wrong but knowing it must be bad.

She'd spent enough time waiting to know the cycles. Commotion at meal times, the heavy aromas of overcooked food that always brought memories of her high school cafeteria. The calming period afterward, when empty carts were pushed away. The evening hush after visitors left, lights in the patient rooms went out and the staff breathed, drifted.

Mike had called his parents to take the boys for a sleepover. Now he was asleep himself, neck crooked unnaturally, Dina curled under his arm. Jordan had drifted off, phone clutched to his chest. Gunter was awake, quietly leafing through a National Geographic.

Kay yawned and rolled her shoulders, letting her eyes wander down to the vending machines near the elevator bank.

"You've had too much coffee as it is."

She jumped at the voice and turned to find Gunter focused on her, the magazine discarded.

"I wasn't going to," she said, then sighed. "Yeah, I was going to." She leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees, and cast another glance at the sleeping group.

"It's no one's fault," Gunter said quietly. "I've been trying to pin the blame on Stein, but of course this wasn't him. So I want to blame us instead. Or even Cam. But it's no one's fault."

"Really? Because he's been _bleeding_ for a month now and we've…" Kay threw up her hands but lowered her voice to keep from waking the others. "We've done nothing, Gunter. I told him to take off work if his headache got bad. Sure, Cameron, your brain is being compressed by a massive pool of blood, so go home and have some tea. Right."

Gunter tilted his head. "It's like the doc said – even professionals miss these things. Cam is a get-up type, always has been. He can work through pain, dizziness, just about anything. He once did half a show on a broken ankle. That's good in a magician – it keeps the illusions coming. But it's not so good tooling through Manhattan with extra fluid sloshing around in his skull."

"Gunter," Kay complained weakly, "that doesn't even make sense."

Flashing a quick smile, Gunter reached for the National Geographic again. "Get some sleep," he said. "It'll make more sense when you wake up."

….

Waking up was usually easier. He had a vague sense of that, like a memory of literally bounding from sleep. There was excitement in it, possibility.

But right now it was…jumbly. Things came to him and fleeted away before he could grasp them. Other things came and went – faces, feelings, slips of information that probably mattered somewhere. And he felt a strange, rising sense of urgency as he sifted through it all. Something was off. Something was wrong.

"Mr. Black," the voice said again, and he realized it had spoken before. The thing to do…the thing to do….

He opened his eyes, blinked groggily a few times and was looking at a woman. She was smiling. Her dark eyes seemed kind.

She was…standing beside him. He was in a bed, half sitting up, and she was standing beside the bed reading what looked like a file. Memories of a dozen other beds started coalescing, building context. He was in a hospital. The kind looking woman was a doctor, blue scrubs creased as if from a long day, the headset of a stethoscope hanging out of one pocket.

 _What's…uh…._

"You're in a hospital, Mr. Black," the doctor said, as if he'd asked the question out loud. She moved to the foot of his bed and made a brief notation on what had to be his chart. "I'm Dr. Gina Singh, and I'm a neurologist. You've had a head injury."

Ah. A trick gone wrong, rehearsal or a show—no. A case, an FBI case. And at once it was back. Harold Cantor garrotted and crammed into a packing crate. Creepy Jacobus Stein, carny and occultist and lover of the macabre. The car, stalking him silently…. Cameron tried to lift his head and winced.

"No," the doctor cautioned, putting a hand on his chest. "You are not going to move around. You've just come through surgery." She looked over the monitors and then smiled at him again. "You did just fine," she said, reaching down to take his hands in each of hers. "Now can you squeeze my hands?"

He thought for a moment and did it, feeling the muscles move obediently. It was good; she looked almost proud.

"What did I just have you do?" she asked.

He blinked. "Squeeze your hands." The words scraped over his throat but came out clear enough.

"That's right," she said. "Look at me." She shone a penlight briefly in his eyes, had him follow its beam. He remembered the headlights of the car behind him, but it seemed vague and dreamlike. "Good," the doctor said. "Very good. Now you will rest. I'll have a nurse bring some pain medication in case you need it. And I'll let your friends know that you're awake. The five of them have been here all day." And she was gone.

Cameron blinked again and took a deep breath, assessing. His limbs felt heavy and he was tired, wrung out. Memories swirled in his mind, some banal and others senseless, disconnected. Whatever had happened to put him in the hospital was a hazy mystery. But the doctor had said he'd done just fine. The doctor had said his team was close by. The creeping fear receded. Things couldn't be that bad.

….

Her voice didn't cut through his sleep so much as sweep it aside, like wind dissipating gauzy cloud. He opened his eyes and saw the neurologist conferring quietly with Gunter. The older man was nodding, looking pleased. Mike yawned and gently extricated himself from Dina's side, stretching as he stood.

"Mike," Gunter whispered, smiling. "Guess who's ready for visitors?"

"Ready for a _short_ visit," Dr. Singh interjected, raising her hand. "Mr. Black has just had surgery. He needs his rest and he shall have it. Are we understood?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Mike replied automatically. Gunter nodded soberly.

The doctor raised an eyebrow and a finger for emphasis. "A few minutes only." She looked from one to the other. "And then you go and get some rest yourselves. He's going to be sleepy for a while yet." Excusing herself with a nod, she headed for the nurses' station.

"Hey," Kay said hoarsely, uncurling and pushing herself up from the chair as Mike and Gunter turned to her. She cleared her throat and ran a hand through her hair. "What's happened?"

"Cameron's awake," Mike said. "They drained the blood and closed up the burr holes."

"No temporary drain?"

"Didn't need it. Dr. Singh said once they finished irrigating the area they were pretty confident the bleeding had stopped on its own, so Cameron just has to rest for a few days and then ease back into his normal life."

"Except for the part where he gets repeatedly clunked in the head," Gunter put in. Turning toward the waiting area, he snapped his fingers. "Jordan!" he hissed, grinning when the young man jumped and dropped his phone. On the longer sofa Dina stirred and blinked, then managed a frown at Gunter's chuckle.

"Is he okay?" Jordan asked, stifling a yawn.

"Gonna be right as rain," Gunter promised.

Dina moved to Mike's side. "Can we see him? It's…oh, it's past midnight."

"We can see him for a few minutes, if he's still awake," Mike said.

But Kay had already drifted to the open door of Cameron's room and was lingering there, studying him. They joined her and peered in, and she smiled softly. "He's out like a light."

….

To be continued

Note - thanks for reading! Hopefully it's still ticking along well enough. We are getting pretty close to the conclusion, so that's something.

Re the campaign, which appears to have become something of a life's work for me, it's still going. I'm still hounding ABC through their feedback page. I may start providing comments in perfect haiku. That might get them interested! I've also emailed Amazon a couple of times, and have heard from others who've done the same. We've received personalized replies from actual humans who sign their names to the emails and don't just send a form response. One of them mentioned watching Deception herself. I guess she could have been blowing smoke, but why? I was impressed and encouraged by their responses. It's possible that Deception is actually on their radar and they're just waiting to see if enough interest is shown by the audience. Who knows?


	7. Chapter 7

Flow (7)

….

 _Day 24:_

"Are you sure you want to hear all this?"

Cameron reached up and felt gingerly around the bandage he sported just below the hairline on his right side. The small square of taped gauze was the only indication he'd had brain surgery. He let his eyes wander over the group crowded into his room – Kay parked on the edge of his bed, Mike and Dina in chairs beside, Gunter and Jordan leaning against the far wall. The windowsill was crammed with flowers and cards. It was surreal, on the heels of what felt like a vivid nightmare. "Yeah, I want to hear all of it," he said. "From what I remember, the weirdness started when I was checking out surveillance video in the Archive. I got a call from Johnny…."

"No, you didn't."

"Yeah I did. He wanted to know when I was coming to see him."

Mike sighed and scooted his chair closer to the bed. Spying the full water jug on the bedside table, he poured a cup and held it out for Cameron. "Didn't the doc mention something about you being pretty dehydrated when you came in? Something about surviving on coffee for the last several days?"

Cameron grimaced but took the cup. "Yeah, I guess I wasn't thinking about that."

"Well, time to start," Gunter said.

Mike rubbed the back of his neck. "Jonathan didn't call you the other night, Cameron." At the magician's skeptical look he raised a hand. "I checked. I ran your phone records and even swung by the prison to talk to him myself."

Cameron blinked. "But…."

"Alright," Dina said. "Maybe we should start at the beginning. Which would probably be your visit with Jon last week. He phoned me a few days afterward, the same morning you got this case. He was worried."

"Worried?"

"Quite. He said during the visit you were antsy, distracted…you paced around the room. Nothing dramatic, but he thought something was bothering you and wanted to bring it up. But then a few days passed and you kept missing his calls, and he got concerned enough to call me."

"I remember that morning," Cameron said. Dina had worried about him and he'd snarled in return. The words were clear in his mind but whatever he'd been feeling was hazy, elusive. "I don't…" he said, shrugging helplessly at her.

"You don't what, Sweetheart?"

"I don't know why I went off on you like that. I remember it but it doesn't feel like me."

Smiling, Dina waved a hand at him. "It wasn't anything, except it got me wondering too. I figured Jon was right and there was something bothering you. That's the first sign of this I remember seeing."

Kay cleared her throat. "That's actually the first sign I remember, too. When I went to pick you up I caught the tail end of your conversation and it seemed…tense. But you seemed fine after that. We went to search the warehouse and found Harold Cantor."

"And Stein's machine," Cameron added.

"And that. And you were alright the rest of the day." Kay sifted through her mental chronology, landing on a moment. "It was the next afternoon. You were irritated that you'd missed a call from Jonathan because your ringer was on silent. And you had a headache. You seemed…'off.' Moody, unfocused, sort of pessimistic." She shook her head. "I thought you were getting sick."

Cameron raised an eyebrow. "You think I'm the type to be whiny and sullen when I'm sick?" When Jordan snickered and whispered something to Gunter, Cameron tossed them a scowl. "You know what I mean."

"The next day we searched Stein's apartment," Mike put in. "We found all those creepy vintage tools, the embalming machine…you seemed okay, but quiet. Like you were in your own world."

"That's the day I went back to the Archive to watch security footage from the docks."

Nodding, Kay continued. "Yes. And the next morning you told me you'd heard noises and thought someone may have broken in. That's also when you first mentioned seeing the car."

"The car," Cameron muttered. "I think I saw it outside the Archive and then again near the FBI building. I don't know – that's a bit fuzzy. But later…it was tailing me when I drove out to visit Johnny." He caught the look that passed between Kay and Mike, the sudden silence. "What?" he asked.

"There was no car," Kay said quietly.

Cameron frowned at her, looked to Mike and then around the room. "First there's no phone call even though I remember taking it, now there's no car even though I remember seeing it?" He raised his eyebrows. "Are you guys trying to tell me I went crazy?"

Kay smiled softly at him. "This is probably pretty confusing. Maybe it'll make more sense if we tell you what we were up to."

….

 _Day 23 (again):_

She relished the warmth of her coffee as she passed through security screening in the FBI building lobby. Not even 6:30 am, and it had been well past midnight when Deakins had ordered her and Mike home for a few hours' rest. Exhaustion weighed her down, made her vaguely nauseous. What she needed was sleep, not more caffeine, but today they were wrapping things up in a nice neat bow and that was the priority. She stifled a yawn and was grateful that she'd sent Cameron off early the afternoon before, telling him to visit his brother and then go home and take it easy. Hopefully he would be in top shape to help them tie up remaining loose ends.

Thank God for the cyber guys, coming through with Cantor's financials shortly after Cameron had left. They'd learned that the Harbormaster had made a sizeable deposit on the last Friday of each month, and then routed that money into an account on Grand Cayman. She and Mike had squinted at the print-outs, discouraged – the cash deposits gave them no clue who'd been paying Cantor off. But then Mike had blinked and slowly grinned, and she'd looked at him, waiting.

"Remember," he'd said. "The witness we interviewed – the office assistant. Harold liked his gambling."

Kay had felt the pieces fall together then. "His poker game. Always with the same guys, and always on the last _Thursday_ of the month."

So they'd spent last evening running down information on Cantor's poker buddies – all supervisors on the crews that loaded container ships. The men went to those games with cash and left empty-handed, and the day after each game Cantor deposited the cash. His cut for looking the other way, until they'd fallen out or he'd gotten greedy or his expensive tastes had attracted too much attention to their business.

And now their bad guys, having killed Cantor and cut their losses, were probably stowed away on one of those container ships, bound for Central or South America. Frowning to herself as she rode up in the elevator, Kay looked for the bright side. They'd all but solved their murder and blown apart what appeared to have been an organized, long-term smuggling operation through the Port of New York.

The doors opened and Mike was there, peering at his phone. He glanced up. "Thank God," he exclaimed. "I was about to ask when you were getting here. Have you seen Cameron?"

"Good morning," Kay said, checking her watch. Now 6:30 on the nose. "No I haven't...but it's pretty early. What's going on?"

"I'm not even sure," Mike replied. "But whatever it is, it's got me creeped out." He jerked his head in the direction of their desks. "We need to talk."

….

To be continued

Note: Continued thanks for reading! I appreciate the patience in awaiting these updates, and I'm happy to say that the next update will be either tonight or tomorrow. I've written the rest of it…just ironing out a few kinks.

On the Save Deception campaign: happy to report that the petition has over 21,000 signatures! That's a lot of disappointed/disillusioned/ticked off fans. I continue to offer 'feedback' to ABC through their programming feedback site, which is free and accessible and might as well be spammed by those of us who want to convey our thoughts. I've also emailed several other networks about picking up our show.

One final thing…I mentioned in an earlier note that I was considering putting my thoughts on this into Haiku format, despite the fact that Haiku is typically focused on nature. My brain did not let it go, with dubious results. So here it is – a pseudo-haiku. I call it "Commentary":

...

Deception is great

The mystery and magic

ABC you suck.

...

Now I'm torn. I'd like to gift ABC this creative work through their programming feedback page, but I'm concerned it might be viewed as unkind. Thoughts?


	8. Chapter 8

Flow (8)

….

Kay tried Cameron's cell and felt a surge of frustration as it went straight to voicemail. She turned back to Mike. "We're sure about this."

"Whatever 'this' is, yes."

She tapped the laptop keyboard to bring up the image again. "This is what Jacobus Stein drives."

"Yeah," Mike nodded. "A 1973 Oldsmobile Delta 88 Royale, midnight blue. We'd already run his vehicle registration after figuring out he made the 'haunting machine.' When Cameron told you he'd been followed here, I checked that first."

"Dark blue and old, just like Cameron said."

"Yeah."

"This makes no sense, Mike."

"I know."

"Nothing on the footage. Nothing at all?"

Mike sighed. "I went through it. Then I went through it again." He settled on the edge of his desk, slouching a bit. "Then I ran Cameron's cell phone records, and after I got those back yesterday afternoon, I paid a visit to Jonathan."

Kay felt like she was being pulled into some bizarre alternate reality. Scanning the cell records, she shook her head and tried to rationalize it. "Mike, you're telling me that none of this happened. He didn't get a call from Jonathan 2 nights ago. He wasn't followed by this car. And he didn't go see Jonathan after he left here yesterday afternoon, even though that's what he planned to do?"

"That's what I'm telling you. Jonathan confirmed: he left a few voicemails, but he hasn't actually seen or spoken to Cameron since their visit, which was about 10 days ago. We've got Cameron's phone records and a week's worth of traffic footage around the Archive and his apartment. No dark blue mystery car. And Jacobus Stein's car turned up last night off the BOLO – it's been in long-term parking at JFK for the last 4 days. Stein was probably on a flight out of New York the day after Cantor's murder." Mike blew out a frustrated breath and scrubbed both hands over his face.

"That means Stein wasn't following Cameron. What – was he just being paranoid?"

"I don't know, Kay," Mike admitted. "But I got a call from Dina just before you got here. Cameron dropped off the radar yesterday and the team couldn't reach him, so this morning they finally tracked his phone to a little diner off the interstate, near Woodbury."

Kay stared at him. "Woodbury."

"Yeah. When Dina called the place, a waitress told her Cameron was there all night, drinking coffee and staring out the window. And this morning he had a pretty nasty argument on his phone. Apparently he raised his voice like he was responding to some kind of threat. It was enough to scare the other customers. Then he just left."

"He's still not answering his cell." Kay tried it again, held her breath through his chipper greeting. "Cameron, it's me. Call me back, _please_ , as soon as you can." She ended the call and pivoted to face Mike. "Where is he right now?"

….

"That's Dina's car," Mike said, pulling into the visitor parking area beside Cameron's building.

"Yeah," Kay replied. "There they are." She was out the door as soon as Mike had nosed into a spot. "Guys!" she called, heading for the building's front steps.

Dina hurried toward them, Jordan and Gunter close behind. "We decided to come check on him ourselves," she said without preamble. "He was gone all yesterday and we find out he hasn't even been home all night. Is this about the case you're working?"

"We don't know, Hon," Mike said, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze as they climbed the stairs.

"It's weird, whatever it is," Gunter commented.

Kay showed her credentials to the concierge and they headed for the elevator bank. The ride up was silent, pensive.

"This _is_ kind of weird," Jordan said. As Kay and the others glanced at him, he shrugged. "The whole gang showing up at his apartment at" – he checked his phone – "8:00 am. What if he just had a late night and now he's in the shower or something?"

Kay eyed the floor indicator. "I don't know what's going on," she admitted, "but we've had a murder, a phony 'haunting' at a warehouse, and now Cameron seems to have gone off the rails. So we check."

They left the elevator and walked down the quiet hallway, Mike at her side. Kay was reaching for the doorbell when the door flew open and Cameron was there, dishevelled, moving. She started to say his name before realizing something was _wrong_ when he threw a clumsy punch. Then chaos: voices rose as she easily sidestepped the attack, surprise yielding before her training. Cameron overbalanced, recovered and tried to bolt. And Mike moved in, deftly securing the magician's arms behind his back and taking him to the floor.

For a moment Cameron fought, wide-eyed and seemingly oblivious to them. Then his eyes fluttered shut and he was unconscious.

….

 _Day 24 (again):_

Cameron stared at her, stricken. "I took a swing at you?"

Kay smiled gently at the magician's horrified look. "Don't worry – your coordination left a lot to be desired. And when Mike tackled you, you went down pretty fast."

"I don't remember that at all. It's just…blank."

"Dr. Singh said that's common. You would have been deteriorating pretty rapidly the last day or so. You probably won't remember much, if anything."

Nodding, Cameron lay back in bed and tried to suppress a yawn. "I feel like I fell down a rabbit hole."

Mike stood up and snagged his jacket from the back of the chair. "No falling. No more getting hit in the head, either."

"Amen to that," Gunter said.

Cameron sifted through a pile of memories – the dimness of the Archive, the car's gleaming chrome grill and the sense that something sinister was after him. He could see the low, cloud-studded sky over the prison road. He could hear the menacing voice on his phone. 'Rabbit hole' didn't begin to cover it. "It's amazing that my mind could have come up with all that," he wondered. "It seemed so… _real_."

"It was for you," Kay said. "Dr. Singh told us these types of injuries can cause vivid delusions and even hallucinations. So you were living a different reality."

Dina swept down and kissed Cameron on the cheek, eliciting a tired smile. "Now that we've done away with all this drama," she said, "I think it's time for you to get some rest." The others gathered jackets and bags and headed for the door in silent agreement. Gunter patted Cameron's knee as he passed the bed.

"You heard Dina," Kay ordered. "Get some rest."

Mike grinned. "I wouldn't argue with either of them, Cameron."

Cameron nodded. "I don't plan on it." As Kay and Mike started to turn away, it occurred to him. "How'd I know about the car?"

They turned back. "What was that?" Kay asked.

"The car," he said again. "You guys said you found out what kind of car Stein drove while you were checking into whether or not I was being followed."

"That's right," Mike said slowly. "And we also figured out that he was never following you, because he'd parked that car at JFK and left the country."

Cameron considered it. "Okay, but if it was all in my head, how did I know what kind of car to imagine? I know Stein's reputation but I've never met him – other than that old photo you showed us, I wouldn't even know what he looks like. And before a couple days ago, I'm pretty sure I'd never seen his car."

Mike opened his mouth to respond, then blinked and frowned. He and Kay peered at each other, silent.

….

End

Note: Thanks to all for the patience! This update was supposed to come a few days ago but the site wouldn't let me log in (it's a plot!). J

Anyway, hope you've enjoyed it.

Re the campaign: still much signature activity on the petition, and I'm still sending feedback to ABC regularly, as well as encouraging others to email Amazon, HBO, Netflix, CBS, NBC, etc…. Hopefully those efforts, along with anything else being done on other venues, will pay off! I've seen petition comments from around the world. I had no idea that Deception attracted such a wide ranging and diverse audience, but apparently it has! I told ABC they've got a lot of eager fans out here waiting.


	9. Chapter 9

Flow: Epilogue

He was floating, warm and comfortable, on the edge of a dream. Sounds were beginning to register – a distant ringing phone, voices, the beeping of a truck in reverse. There was activity, and as the dream receded, dissolving, he felt the strangeness of being asleep in the middle of the day while the world carried on around.

"I think he's waking up."

The voice was soft, familiar…. _Jonathan._ Cameron pushed at the last tendrils of sleep and opened his eyes just enough to see his brother seated by his bed, leaning toward him.

"Should I call you Sleeping Beauty?" Jonathan asked softly.

"Hm. Cuz tha' wouldn' be weird." His voice sounded rough, and Kay was suddenly there next to Jonathan, looking concerned.

"Cameron," she ordered. "Wake up now, okay?"

"Okay…." He cleared his throat and blinked a few times, slipping into consciousness. He squinted at Kay. "What?"

She sighed. "Sorry. I just – you sounded a bit…sorry." She smiled at him, then nodded to Jonathan. "I'll leave you guys; I'll be in the hall."

"Thanks." Jonathan watched her leave, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Cameron stared after her. "What was that about?"

"The doc said something about keeping an eye out for symptoms. Slurred speech, coordination issues. You know, signs of…well. So how you feeling?"

"Not bad," Cameron said. He held up both hands, experimentally wiggled his fingers. "And I seem to be coordinated. But what are you doing here?"

A raised eyebrow. "Well, Kay was able to use the fact that you nearly _died_ to get me furloughed to see you. Smart, no?"

"Uh…smart yes. And I'm glad. But I didn't nearly die."

Jonathan paused and seemed to study him. "Yes, you did," he said.

"Nah. Just had a confused little…adventure." The immediacy and oddity of it had faded a bit, leaving jumbled details that made little sense in hindsight.

There was quiet for a moment, then Jonathan cleared his throat. "So Kay said you were freaked out about the car. You imagined it even though you hadn't seen it before."

"Yeah," Cameron admitted. "But I thought about that. I was obviously wrong."

"About?"

"About never seeing it. We'd searched Stein's apartment a day before. I probably saw papers, maybe a photo of him with the car or something. And the place was creepy, so my brain made it sinister." He shrugged. "It doesn't matter. What I know is there was nothing supernatural going on – just a head injury messing with my perception."

His brother was silent, eyeing the ceiling, and Cameron suddenly felt as though something in the room had shifted while he wasn't paying attention. "Johnny?" He waited for an answer, the air between them heavy, strained. "Johnny," he pressed. "What's go—"

"I knocked you out too," Jonathan said quietly. "Back in the vault. I was part of that." His eyes were locked on the bland tiles.

Cameron opened his mouth to disagree, to argue, but he couldn't. It had happened. He had run down the hallway, met Jordan, knocked Jordan down, reached the vault. Everything had gone dark, then everything was light again and chaotic. Johnny had pounded on the window, panicked. He searched for words, but all that would come was, "You couldn't have known." It sounded trite.

Jonathan gaped at him. "I couldn't have known what? That it was you? That it would hurt you? That you're not invincible, even if you are 'The Great Cameron Black'? What, Cam?"

That pretty much covered it, and Cameron couldn't help grinning.

"What are you thinking and why is it funny?"

Reaching out, Cameron wiggled his fingers again and waited for Johnny to take his hand. It took a moment (it always had). He sighed. "I'm thinking there was no way for you to keep me out of this," he said. "No way, Johnny. And it's funny because no matter how many times we go through it, you always seem to figure it'll be different next time."

"It comes with the territory, little brother."

"By a few minutes, Johnny."

"Doesn't matter."

"Yeah it does." Shifting to get a bit more comfortable, Cameron studied his twin. Jonathan was wearing his prison skin, the tiny lines showing around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth. His back was as straight as ever, but the hand that wasn't gently holding Cameron's was clenched in his lap. He radiated tension, fatigue. Cameron met his gaze evenly. "It matters, Johnny," he said again.

"I'm not even sure what we're talking about," Jonathan countered.

"We're talking about the fact that we can't always be there to keep each other safe," Cameron said. "You know that. We're not kids anymore. You're locked up and I'm running around with the FBI. Things will happen."

Jonathan peered at him. " _Things will happen_?"

Cameron smirked. "It sounded wise in my head."

"Maybe you do have brain damage."

His eyes were heavy, and Cameron struggled to keep them open. The doctor had said he'd probably sleep more than normal for a few days after the surgery, at least partly because he hadn't slept much at all in the weeks before.

"You're tired," Jonathan said, releasing his hand.

"Yeah," he admitted. "But not too tired to spend some time with my favorite brother."

"I'm your only brother."

Letting his eyes close, Cameron smiled. "Yes you are."

….

End (seriously this time...cheers!)

Note: Apologies for the radio silence and lack of updates...busy-busy time at work and I've been coming home knackered enough that I just want to sleep on the couch. Thank you so much to everyone who read, reviewed, and offered suggestions...including the suggestion that maybe Jonathan deserved the final word in this story. So I dusted him off and gave him some time. I hope you enjoyed!

Now I'm going to see about reading some stuff and checking in on the petition!


End file.
